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The Purple Thunderbolt of spode Volume 1 Issue 21
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** ** ** ** ** Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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Yep looks the same but it ain't
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 1, 21
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"South Florida's Very Own REPLIES TO: barker@acc.fau.edu
Non Alien Run Electronic Magazine"
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INTRO
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It's sometime after midnight a day after the great Purps get together on
the IRC. Sad to say far too many of our loyal Otisians went berserk over
their new found electronic freedom. [Then again maybe they were speaking
in tongues.]
Still, when one sits back and thinks about it, I suppose we cannot blame
them. It's like going to church for the first time in some cosmic godbox
type amusement type cathedrals. Instead of sitting around listening to
the bozo on the pulpit you go skinny dipping in the baptismal font
because it's much more fun.
So anyways... I'm a little vague on when the next one of these is
supposed to come out. According to my time table, it's this coming
Sunday. However, well the Pope put out the his issue just now and I don't
know if people can deal with this many Purps in such a short time. Still
we will see.
I'm most disappointed that no one bothered to respond to that amazing
contest of mine. Maybe the print was too small or something. Still I'm
new at this and I probably don't know quite how to work the masses up
into a fevered pitch the way the Pope can.
Stolen Lightning....
Hmm a problem I encountered editing this is the ease of smearing electronic
gibberish about. I had to hack out a couple hundred lines of this seeing
as the Pope put it all in 20. I suppose this happens when one has
parallel distribution channels. Still, this should encourage me to go out
and seek more sources of enlightenment and put my nose the to grind stone
and churn out some more of my own material.
Our Lady of Bloody Pinking Shears...
Well the Pope reprinted that St. Tif sent me. Most disturbing that the
Otisian Movement has grown to such a point that outside forces have begun
to prosecute the innocent masses. Still look what they did to the big J.
and see where it got him. It's time indeed to let loose the lawyers and
make sure we've got the book and film rights to this incident all taken
care of.
Perhaps this could be the source of the first Otisian Movie. [Well the
first move that a) they let the general masses see and b) the first
movie that is actually to be officially announced as Otisian. [Well I
suppose you could count the Doc Savage movie but that business about Otis
is in very small print. Or "8 1/2" where the clerk at the hotel wears an
Otisian Arrow on his lapel.]
****
Hmm I got this all cobbled together now. I left out a few things I wanted
to include as usual, but there's plenty there as is.
This time around we have:
Ween Story
Viewer Mail
More important Disney Land Information
Messenger of the Gods Part III
News of the Weird
Stupid Christian Tricks
More News of the Weird
Poetry Corner
Preach-O-Rama Excerpts
My Voyage to the Neatherworld
As always if you have any questions, comments or submissions write to:
barker@acc.fau.edu and we'll see what can be done.
And away we go...
===========================================================================
STORY TIME
===========================================================================
[Hmm this is a story of some sort about a band that actually exits. The
author happens to be one of our newer converts.]
Date: Wed, 1 May 91 16:37:57 -0400
From: ecs62697@zach.fit.EDU
To: barker@fauvax.BITNET
Message-Id: <9105012037.AA15813@zach.fit.edu>
The short blue-and-pink Demong whaled away at my screen door.
"Hang on a second," I yelled from my vegetative position on the Couch of
Moral Relapse. "We've latched the screen doors so that the ZTUPPID KATZ
don't get out."
I didn't feel like having to reinstall the archaic wooden insectual
filter, so I got up from my restful stance and unlatched the door.
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Boognish, Demong of Musical
Duos. You might have heard of my work; the band Ween...no? Ah, I see you
have. May I come in?"
Yes, I had heard of him. His scrawled visage adorned the cover of
_God_Ween_ _Satan:_The_Oneness_. This guy was weird trouble, if the
sounds emerging from the album were any indication.
The ZTUPPID KATZ wandered over and gave Boognish a perfunctory sniff after
ostentatiously licking their rectums. SPAZZ took the trouble to sharpen
his claws on Boognish's pants leg while TRALPHAZZ hacked up a flaming
hairball (see Weekly World News, February 23, 1991). A normal reaction.
Nothing to be afraid of here.
Boognish had proferred his business card. He stamped his feet on the
Welcome Mat of Misogynistic Catharsis and walked into my Stumble Abode.
The card simply said "Boognish".
"As you may know, I am the Patron Demong of Musical Duos. It has come to
my attention that YOUR musical duo is not registered with my
booking/management company. Please correct the situation at once."
"Oh man," I countered, "is this one of those sell-your-soul-to-the-devil A
& R outfits? Listen: Ten, twenty years, it was cool. Satan had all these
great acts signed. The Beatles, the Stones, Dylan, KISS, Nugent; the list
goes on forever. So who does Satan sign now? The New Kids on the Block.
Styx. Lame-o acts that couldn't drive their audiences into a killing rage
if their deaths depended on it. So screw you. Go sign some cheezoid
local Top40 act. Your name's dirt around here."
I slammed the door on his leering face, but I knew that wouldn't be the
last. I would have to enlist Supernatural Help.
Author's note: Ween is real. A way cool band; they sound like opening your
sock drawer to find it crawling with exotic insects and movie stars. "God
Ween Satan: The Oneness" is highly recommended.
===========================================================================
VIEWER MAIL
===========================================================================
>From: IN%"stevensj@vax001.kenyon.EDU" "JEFFREY L STEVENS" 2-MAY-1991 09:58:00.08
>To: barker <barker@ACC.FAU.EDU>
>CC:
>Subj: Viewer Mail
>Date: Thu, 2 May 91 12:28:08 BST
>From: M.S.Dow@exeter.ac.uk
>Subject: Re: PURPS.19.. TIMING"S bad, I know
>
>OH MY GOD!!! The aliens got Walt!!! What about the hamsters???????????
>
>foole
Oh dear. Did I let *that* slip out. Hmm well I am in Florida. Actually
it's not really the aliens. Well maybe it is, but not really. It's more
of an earthly menace. Actually, a large earthly menace that tends to
travel around in a giant evil looking zeppelin with a short of evil grin
painted on the front. Usually you can't see the grin, let alone the
zeppelin seeing as it's usually in an obscuring cloud bank.
Hmm I'm saying to much again. Don't want to give the younger views
nightmares.
===========================================================================
THE DISNEY NIGHTMARE CONTINUES
===========================================================================
[As our loyal readers will no doubt recall, this publication described how
Walt Disney took over Kenyon College. In an effort to enlighten loyal
Otisians everywhere here is some more information on Disney.]
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
Subject: Club 33
Date: 6 May 91 13:55:48 GMT
I repost the Club 33 information for those who seem to have missed it:
The colorful realism and the precise architectural detail of New Orleans
Square in DISNEYLAND captures the atmosphere of the nineteenth-century New
Orleans French Quarter. Glancing upwards to the second story balconies
and the ornate iron railings hung with flowers, one would hardly guess
that they surround the little-known but quite elegant Club 33.
Years ago, Walt Disney felt that a special place was needed where he could
entertain visiting dignitaries and others in a quiet, serene atmosphere
where superb cuisine and distinctive decor would complement one another.
He asked artist Dorothea Redmond to provide watercolor renderings of what
such a place might look like. Accompanied by renowned decorator Emil
Kuri, Walt and his wife traveled to New Orleans to select many of the
beautiful antiques that are on display. After years of planning, Club 33
became a reality in May of 1967. Sadly enough, it was never seen by its
creator because of his untimely death five months earlier.
Club 33, so named after its address, 33 Royal Street, is comprised of two
dining rooms and several adjoining areas, all of which hold a wide array
of magnificent antiques and original works of art. After ascending in the
French lift to the second floor, guests enter into The Gallery. Here they
find interesting items such as an oak telephone booth with beveled leaded
glass panels adapted from the one used in the Disney motion picture "The
Happiest Millionaire" and a rare console table which was found in the
French Quarter of New Orleans. In The Gallery, as elsewhere in the Club,
are many original works by Disney artists and sketches done as design
studies for New Orleans Square and the Pirates of the Caribbean
attraction.
The Gallery leads into Lounge Alley which serves as a vestibule and also
the buffet for the Main Dining Room and Trophy Room. One wall displays
several conceptual sketches of New Orleans Square, and directly across
from these sketches is a custom-designed harpsichord decorated with a
hand-painted scene depicting New Orleans harbor in the nineteenth century.
The furnishings are a combination of antique and reproduction pieces.
The Main Dining Room is decorated in First Empire, recalling the era of
Napoleon and the early nineteenth century. Three glimmering chandeliers
and wall sconces illuminate the entire room. Much of the framed artwork
on the walls is again, the work of Disney artists. Fresh flowers, parquet
floors, and antique bronzes create an atmosphere of serenity and warmth.
The Trophy Room is the second dining room and offers a more informal
atmosphere. The cypress-planked walls provide an excellent background for
sketches done as design studies for the Jungle Cruise and Tiki Room
attractions. The design of the room incorporates the use of microphones
in the center of each chandelier and a vulture with the ability to speak.
Walt Disney's intention for this concept was humorous in nature, as the
vulture was to converse with guests during dinner. The Trophy Room also
contains a number of antiques and it is usually sunlit from a long row of
windows.
Today, Club 33 functions as an exclusive private club where members or
their guests may enjoy a gourmet meal complemented by the finest wines.
Tradition, accompanied by gracious hospitality, has been the hallmark of
Club 33 since its opening day . . . and will continue to be for many years
to come.
High above the streets and courtyards of New Orleans Square, hidden
from public view and the bustle of a typical day at Disneyland, is a page
of old New Orleans that even the proud Creole society might have chosen
and cherished as its own.
Here French doors open onto balconies that overlook Disneyland's own
muddy Mississippi, the Rivers of America. Here in the tradition of the
good host, Walt Disney and his staff planned and executed Disneyland's
most exclusive setting -- part elegant dining room, part relaxed
refreshment center, part distinguished art gallery, part meeting room and
part private showplace.
Here, away from the general public, adult beverages are available,
including the finest of wines to match the house food specialties.
This was Walt Disney's concept -- an elegant, exclusive club . . . a
place for conversation, and a conversation piece in its own right.
Corporate Membership
This membership is designed for organizations to make Club 33 available
to a number of their executives, and has a membership fee of $20,000.
This entitles the corporate member to designate up to nine associate
members. Dues for associate members are $1,800 per member per year. All
memberships are transferable to other executives in the corporation.
Members no longer in the employ of the corporate member's company must
surrender the membership cards to Club 33. The corporate members may then
designate another member of his company.
Limited Corporate Membership
This membership is designed for organizations wishing to make Club 33
available to one of their executives, and has a membership fee of $10,000.
This entitles the corporation to transfer the membership to another
employee whenever necessary. For individual members, credit is extended
based upon the membership fee initially paid if a transfer of membership
is desired. Dues are $1,800 per year.
Individual Membership
This particular membership is for individuals and is available at $5,000
membership fee and $1,800 annual dues. These memberships are
nontransferable.
Members will be billed monthly for all charges.
Information
All members must have a valid membership card to gain entrance to Club
33. Additional utilization of the card is to spouse only, with
reservations accepted only from the cardholder, the spouse or the
cardholder's secretary. Use of the membership card is subject to the
terms covering membership agreed to by the member in the membership
application.
The membership card entitles the member and a party of nine to free
parking and admission through the Main Entrance of DISNEYLAND (except when
special tickets are the only admission to a special event or private
party). This privilege is applicable when the members plan to dine at
Club 33. If the card is used for admission but the member does not dine
at the Club the member will be billed for the regular price of admission.
If the member is unable to accompany the guests, the Club will arrange
admission for them at no charge.
Members may purchase DISNEYLAND passports through Club 33 for pick-up at
the Guest Relations Booth. The membership card authorizes the member to
receive credit by signing special charge slips when presented at Club 33
and other restaurants and merchandise locations owned and operated by
DISNEYLAND park.
We reserve the right to approve or disapprove any membership to assure
that our high standards are maintained.
To remain a member in good standing, dues must be paid annually within
thirty (30) days following receipt of invoice.
Usage of Club 33 is by reservation only. It is advisable to call for
reservations well in advance.
Private parties utilizing the entire Club facilities are available upon
member's request with the required minimum number of guests.
*****
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
Subject: More Disneyland ULs ... Evacuation Procedures
Date: 6 May 91 22:43:00 GMT
A Disneyland story, reported to me as The Gospel Truth by a friend who
worked there for a summer, was that there were two songs which the PA
system would NEVER play at Disneyland under normal circumstances.
One was "Whistle While You Work," which was code for "Evacuate the Park."
The other he could not remember, but it was code for "Get Everyone to the
Bomb Shelters." (Disneyland has bomb shelters? That can hold an entire
Disneylandfull of people?)
Anyone else heard this particular story?
Also, on the subject of Stupid Disneyland Tricks: Back in my juvenile
delinquent youth, we would visit Disneyland, and time how long it took
between us dropping trash and a uniformed person appearing to remove it.
As I remember, minimum was 1 second (said person was standing behind us)
to 1 minute, average about 20 seconds.
===========================================================================
MORE STORY TIME
===========================================================================
[Hmm looks like this story may take a bit more space and time than I
suspect it first would. I was hoping for four parts but I think it may
take long to conclude this exciting and informative tale.]
MESSENGER OF THE GODS PART III
We climbed down below into the control room, lit by dim red bulbs. They
were rigged for night running. My eyes not accustomed to the gloom, made
out dim shapes standing absolutely motionless. There was a funny smell in
the air. Spices and something else.
"How do," said a small dark man in a spotless white suit suddenly
appearing in front of me from around a bank of equipment. He held some
sort of bone rattled in one hand. He wore a black bowler on his head,
chicken bones stuck in a blood red scarf tied around it's brim.
"Who's this?" I asked out the corner of my mouth to Elvis who was right
behind me.
"Oh heck! Why this is Dr. Mabuto. I hired him to crew for me and do help
with the work on my navy."
Mabuto held out his hand. White teeth glinted. I noticed his gums were
almost white as well. The name seemed familiar. Then it hit me. I'd heard
of Mabuto before. He'd been deported from the U.S. after the National
Science Foundation discovered he been using a multi-million dollar grant
of their's for research in cross breeding kelp with ganja. He also
apparently deemed it necessary to biologically engineer a group of humans
to server as underwater farmers for his crop. There had been talk of
hideous fishmen behind the close doors of the deportation hearing.
His father had been a full blown voodoo priest while his mother was a
marine biologist. He'd grown up on a weird blend of science and
superstition. His natural genius had managed to blend them together
synthesizing a totally new product.
I shook the offered hand. He seemed friendly enough. He excitedly took me
by the arm and guided me around the control room pointing out this or that
control panel. The things he really wanted to show me though were the
crew--his pride and joy. They were his supposedly disposed of fishmen.
"With the help of the spirits of the deep I was able to free them from
their unjust incarceration," he explained to me. The government had been
holding them in one of their secret prison/laboratories. The secret
facility had been right on the ocean so it was very vulnerable to attack
by sea.
From Mabuto's account I gathered some great thing all flailing tentacles
and sucking mouths has oozed up onto the beach, torn the lab apart and
carried off the fishmen and a few others. I asked Elvis about the others
later. As it turned out a couple of them were survivors of the
Philadelphia Experiment. Their rescue had some how helped Elvis get a hold
of that weird green fog dimensional warp device.
Now that my eyes were getting used to the red glow I could make out the
details of the stock still fishmen. Each stood ready and alert in front of
his or her station. They seemed human enough except for the big bulging
eyes and modified jaws and throats frilled with gills. Their skin has a
fish belly white sheen and looked like shark skin. The hands, and bare
feet where heavily modified into fins with long prehensile fingers.
Clumps of swimming muscles bulged here and an there. Most reeked of the
sea and ganja.
Mabuto gave me a short lecture on their design. How they eyes were
specially adapted for the underwater, but also their life on land had been
taken into account as well. They could see equally well in both mediums
unlike earlier experiments of his. He pointed out the clumps of muscle and
named each one saying what each one did. It was fascinating but I didn't
have time for it. The letter in my pocket seemed to weight 10 pounds.
"Look are we going to get his show on the road soon?"
"Oh yeah right!", said Elvis jumping off the chart table where he'd been
idly strumming his battered guitar. The Man in Black, who'd been standing
in the shadows, stalked over and pulled the crash dive alarm. Sirens and
hoots filled the air. Mabuto shouted orders at the fishmen who instantly
came alive with a sinewy grace, deftly pulling levers and touching
switches.
The small voodoo priest then yelled into a speaking tube. I gathered there
were more crew somewhere else in the submarine. It was big enough to need
a lot. Clearly Elvis had just come along for the ride.
The deck lurched under my feed at the nose plummeted at a 45 degree angle.
A glint of red light flashed off the dark wrap around sun glasses of the
Man in Black. He seemed to be enjoying this.
"Hey!" shouted Elvis losing his footing and grabbing at the periscope
console as he lost his balanced and crashed into the floor. I worked my
way over across the slopping deck and helped him to his feet.
"Doggone it! Can't we take it easy!" he sputtered with indignation.
"You must get used to this might foe of the Antichrist. When the time of
reckoning is at hand it will be necessary to perform many maneuvers such
as this," said Mabuto. He shook his bone rattle into the speaking tube and
shouted down it. Later I learned that the crew at the other end of the
speaking tube were back among the reactors. They were all zombies. Mabuto
didn't want any of his fishmen getting contaminated. He'd managed some
deal with the Man in Black who'd kidnapped him a couple dozen suitable
victims. It always unnerves one at first to see such powers working
together but bargains such at that has gone on for thousands of years.
"We were also on the verge of being attacked by airborne vehicles of an
Mayan configuration," said the Man in Black startling us all. So he had
pulled the crash dive alarm for a reason besides just wanting to get us
underway in a hurry. The question is: How did he know we were under attack
when he had been standing there with the rest of us?
"Mayans!" I yelled. "Hell some boob was taking about them on the radio
last night! I thought the Fropheads were tampering with me and now this!"
"It was no doubt a subtle warning," said the Man in Black.
"Since when were the Followers of Bob subtle?" asked Mabuto, teeth
flashing as he grinned.
"And why are they so keen on getting this letter of mine?" I asked.
"Well.." began Elvis. He paused a moment as if he forgot was he was going
to say, "maybe it's like my rhinestone getups or my sweat. People used to
go gagga over it. It really does have magical healing powers you know.
Maybe there's some sort of power in the letter."
"Probably, damn thing can drive a normal person mad," I replied.
"Let us see this letter of yours. None of us are normal human beings.
Even my beloved fishmen are resistant to such things. Perhaps if all our
intellect is focused on this problem we can ascertain why these Followers
of Bob wish this letter."
I looked around the control room at each of my companions faces. I wasn't
sure it was a good idea. For a moment my paranoia got out of hand. What if
they would take the letter away from me? It was my letter to deliver after
all. She' given it to me specially to deliver to Otis. I was my job not
theirs. I took a step back, and bumped into a railing. I shook my head to
clear it. The letter must be getting to me.
I walked over to the chart table. Elvis flipped on a bright white light.
We all blinked for a second. There was a chart on the table. A course was
mapped out on it for the Haystack Monument. Funny thing was the course
was plotted right up to the monument. Not just to the coast near it. I
slowly traced the line with my finger.
"How did you know I was going here?" I asked looking at Elvis. He looked
slightly embarrassed. He looked at his feet scuffing them. "Um some lady
called and told me were you were going."
"Some lady!"
"Yeah, she said you'd just called and she'd hear your convo. You'd
forgotten to tell me where we were going so she filled me in. She also has
some not to pleasant threats about what would happen to me if I didn't get
that letter delivered."
"Did she say who she was?"
"Sounded like Marilyn Monroe. Spooked me pretty bad. I thought she was
dead."
"Few are," said the Man in Black cryptically.
Mabuto was grinning again. He noticed my finger tracking the course right
up the to the haystack monument. "Spirits of the deep," he said tapping
his bowler with his rattle.
I pulled out the letter slowly. It felt hot to the touch and weighted as
much as a lead brick. It seemed to vibrate and hum slightly. It hadn't
done this before. Something really weird was going on.
"That wasn't Marilyn Monroe you know," I said to Elvis, who was now
looking at me.
"Sounded like her," he argued.
"It was HER," I said pointing to the letter.
"Don't be too sure." said the Man in Black. From out of a pocket he
produced a silvery rod which he slowly scanned the envelop with. The
little golden apples on it danced madly in an unholy brownian motion.
Mabuto took a close look at the letter and gasped. He crossed himself and
muttered spells and formula.
Elvis got a glazed look in his eyes and reached forward to touch the
letter.
"Better not," I warned. He snatched his had back as it were bitten. The
perfume off the letter slowly worked it's way through the smell of the
control room displacing the reek of ocean and ganja. The fishmen shuffled
uncomfortably and muttered among themselves.
By now we'd level off. A glance at the big compass said we were heading
north. With an abrupt motion the Man in Black slipped the silvery rod
back into his pocket.
"Well?" I asked.
"Damn powerful stuff, like something out of the black heart of old
Africa," said Mabuto. He took off his bowler for a second and wiped his
sweating forehead with a loud handkerchief.
"Woowee. Never seen nothing like that," observed Elvis.
"My instrument tells me little. The power of this artifact is not within
the bounds of any know science," said the Man in Black he seemed a little
intimidated by that fact.
"Of course it's not. It's from a Goddess. It's not some super science
venusian type postal thingie," I said.
We stood for a few moments in silence. The engines throbbed quietly.
"Well any ideas?" I finally asked. I needed to move around. I needed
action. I had to get to the hay stack monument soon.
Dr. Mabuto cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. "Throughout the
ages, men have searched for sources of power. They would pay anything for
it. They would do anything for it. I believe we have in front of us such a
device. We do not know what it does, but we know it has power. Perhaps the
Followers of Bob know it's power. Perhaps they do not but have a use for
it."
I looked at the doctor skeptically. A thought just crossed my mind. "Wait,
it's just a love letter. Look SHE wrote it and SHE wants it delivered to
Otis for Valentines day."
Dr. Mabuto became flustered for a moment and fiddled with his rattle,
adjusting his hat. For a moment I thought he might sick his fishmen on me.
Then the Man in Black spoke.
"I doubt a simple love letter would draw the attention of a Mayan saucer,
which apparently is still following us even though we are a significant
distance below the surface of the ocean."
"What!" the rest of us yelled. Dr. Mabuto swore.
"I would like to point out this that vessel is almost a relic. It is old
and outdated. Present technology has far surpassed it," continued the Man
in Black. He glanced around at the various instruments about himself as if
to stress his point.
"Are you saying my submarine is a piece of junk!" said Elvis sounding hurt.
"Let me put it this way," I began, "comparing this submarine to the navies
present models is like comparing their models to SBI."
"Oh shoot!"
"Is this vessel even safe to operate?" asked Mabuto worrying for his
fishmen.
"Would I be here if it were not?" asked the Man in Black, who was now
looking up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the hull and water
up into the sky were the mayan saucer was following us. We all followed
his gaze. We of course could see nothing. For some reason I suspected this
looking up business was some sort of act.
"I suggest we ignore the mystery of the letter and attend to this saucer,"
said Mabuto. He walked over to the speaking tube and began to issue orders
again.
"Hmm maybe we could capture them and find out why the are following us," I
suggested.
"Boy howdy that's a great idea. We'll get a big net or something and
capture it," said Elvis getting excited. He was acting like a little boy
who'd just been told he was going on a fishing trip.
"And how would you do this?" asked Mabuto. The sound of he engines changed
abruptly as we sped up.
"No doubt call upon some of those resources you have access to," said the
Man in Black as if he did not approve such things.
"Hell we don't need any of that!" shouted Elvis. "Let's use the artifact!
It's a mighty powerful thingamabob according to the space friends!"
Amazingly enough it sounded like a good idea to the rest of us. Though we
had our reservations. Dealing with interdimensional technology, none of
use know much about was a tricky business. We could end up on the far side
of Pluto if we weren't careful.
---MAL 1991
===========================================================================
NEWS OF THE WEIRD
===========================================================================
Date: 4 May 91 11:51:00 EDT
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
Subject: well, as long as there are only 65 people logged on...
From the chapter "Fruits of Research":
(some of you have seen this one before but it bears repeating): Tetsuo
Sugawara, a 24-yr-old student in information science at Japan's Yamagata
University, died of suffocation when he taped up his nose & mouth as part
of an apparent experiment to monitor the effects of breathing on body
movement.
Jesus was probably not celibate, did not advocate celibacy, & had a
"special relationship" with at least 1 woman, according to a committee of
religious scholars, led by Robert W. Funk of Westmar Institute in
California. The participants analyzed 758 sayings of Jesus and judged
only 148 to be authentic. Among their findings: Jesus did not preach much
of the Sermon on the Mount, did not predict his own death, & did not
expect to return to earth. A paper by Peruvian Lutheran scholar Leif Vaage
went so far as to call Jesus "a party animal, somewhat shiftless &
disrespectful of the Fifth Commandment: Honor your mother and father."
Beverly Hills dermatologist Dr. Arnold Klein reported one benefit of
pollution is that it can help keep your skin looking young by blocking
sunlight that can age it.
Researchers at Langley Air Force Base, VA, trying to reduce accidents
caused by jets hitting birds, converted a 20-foot-long cannon to fire
4-pound chickens at 700mph into engines, windshields, & landing gear to
determine how much damage such collisions can cause.
In 1982 Larry Rogers sat in his laboratory in Jacks Valley, CA,
experimenting with grain wastes & a bacterium he thought would dissolve
explosive materials. It didn't work, but Rogers discovered something
better-- bulletproof wheat. He said his compound could be used to
manufacture a broad range of products, among them lightweight armor, a
wood substitute, & pasta.
Brad Coker,whose firm conducted a statewide exit poll in VA's 1989
gubernatorial election, denied that his poll's failure to project the
actual closeness of the race-- Dem. L. Douglas Wilder won by fewer than
7000 votes out of 1.5 million-- had anything to do with the way the poll
was conducted. Instead, he blamed the 10% error on thousands of Republican
voters he accused of deliberately lying to pollsters about the way they
voted.
And on that note, one from the chapter called "Let's Make a Deal":
Saudi Sheik Mohammed al-Fassi offered Midland, Pennsylvania, $3 million if
all the town's voters would pledge to vote against President Reagan in the
1984 election.
===========================================================================
STUPID CHRISTIAN TRICKS
===========================================================================
From: SERVAX::SMTP%"SKEPTIC%YORKVM1.BITNET@pucc.PRINCETON.EDU" 7-MAY-1991 10:49:27.89
Date: Tue, 7 May 91 10:11:47 EDT
Greetings!
Before I put in my two cents worth on this current thread about Christian
schools being allowed to beat their children, I like to tell you a (true)
story. There once was a Fundamentalist Christian community in Virginia
called Stonebridge. There was a little two-year-old boy living there.
One day this little boy took one of his playmate's toys. Of course, the
playmate started to cry. The child was told to give the toy back. Now a
two-year-old's favorite word is "no" and they can be as stubborn as the
proverbial mule. (As the father of three girls I can vouch for that.) So
of course the child refuses to return the toy. The minister of the
community orders the father to beat the child. For some reason this makes
the child even more stubborn. (I suspect that this was not his first
beating.) After approx. 3 hours of beating the child collapses, still
clutching the toy! The boy died enroute to the hospital. The autopsy
revealed that the boy's buttocks were so lacerated and swollen that his
entire body's blood supply had accumulated in the wounds and he had died
of a lack of blood to the brain!
[stuff deleted]
===========================================================================
MORE NEWS OF THE WEIRD
===========================================================================
Date: 8 May 91 09:32:00 EDT
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
Subject: lots of tidbits from the ever-productive Spode
From: VAX001::WINS%"<LBSPODIC%USTHK.BITNET@YALEVM.YCC.Yale.Edu>" 7-MAY-1991 06:28:26.94
Subj: Maybe the world really *is* coming to an end!
[headers deleted]
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
_Sounds Crazy_
This is not a piece of lavatorial humour. This is an item about a
genuine patented invention, details of which were sent to us by the jovial
Elijah Saartori of Cerebe Desing International in Tsuen Wan.
The invention is a combined toilet seat and sound studio.
The official UK patent, number 2227259, says the invention
"comprises a compressible flexible portion configured to seal against the
upper rim of the toilet bowl, and an arcuate cantle-like flange projection
at the rear of the seat, configured to abut and seal against the lower back
of a user sitting on said seat."
It is a toilet seat to be used "for sound reading" according to the
application by inventor Eytan Posner.
We can only think of one explanation for the existence of such an
object. The world has gone mad.
************
Subj: Add this on to the previously received 'bad stuff' list, if you have
one
[headers deleted]
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
_More Bad Stuff_
More pocket-sized versions of popular philosophies, modern and
ancient, have arrived from Causeway Bay beancounter Tony Nedderman:
Animism: We don't need any more bad stuff. Better sacrifice *two*
virgins.
Cannibilism: That's really bad stuff. But at least we get to eat.
Atheism: It may appear to be bad stuff but we don't believe it for a
moment.
Parseeism: That really is bad stuff. Maybe if we put it on the roof
it will go away.
Consumerism: If you don;t try it for yourself, how will you know the
bad stuff?
Moonyism: We need *your* contribution to do something about this
bad stuff.
Positivism: It only seems like bad stuff until we allow for it.
Negativism: Bad stuff? This is just the beginning ...
Jonesism: Forget about all this bad stuff and just drink your
Koolaid.
*********
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 7 May 1991
_Bad Vibes_
More pocket philosophies, courtesy of anonymous of Wan Chai.
Spiritualism: Bad stuff is just your late Uncle Herbert mucking
around.
Materialism: You may have more bad stuff than me, but wait till I go
shopping.
Sexism: Bad stuff is spelt F.E.M.A.L.E.
Feminism: Bad stuff is spelt M.A.L.E.
Positivism: Bad stuff happens to other people.
Pantheism: More bad stuff? Quick, bung a new god on the altar.
[stuff deleted. Appeared in last purps]
******
Subj: An innovative business opportunity?
[headers deleted]
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
_Safe Bet_
Foreign correspondent Stefan Reisner covers the Far East and China
from his Conduit Road base for Germany's _Stern_ magazine.
He was mulling over a new business idea in Germany which he
thought would be ideal for Hongkong.
The company is called Kondonexpress and is a telephone delivery
service for people in need of contraceptive devices.
He reckons it would work well in Hongkong, which is small, modern,
and has world-class and speedy transport services.
"The minimum order is 10 pieces," said Mr. Reisner.
So you can imagine how impressed your partner will be.
*****
Date: 8 May 91 19:40:00 EDT
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
Subject: anonymous contribution
From: (you'll never know)
Subj: news of the wierd material? no, I don't want credit for this:
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The following is paraphrased from a recent
issue of Car and Driver:
In Tennessee, Police responded to reports that a naked woman
had been hit on the highway. Actually, the woman, 24, was
neither naked nor hurt except for a few bruises. Apparently,
she was a passenger in a car doing about 65 mph and had fallen
out of the window while attempting to relieve herself. It seems
she had misjudged the force of the wind. A lady in a different
car witnessed the incident and claims to "have now seen it all."
===========================================================================
POETRY CORNER
===========================================================================
"RONALD REAGAN IS MY SHEPHERD"
Ronald Reagan is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He leadeth me beside still factories and abandoned farms.
He restoreth my doubts in the Republican party.
He anointed my wages with taxes and inflation so my expenses
runneth over my income.
Surely poverty and hard living shall follow the Republican party and
I shall work on a rented farm and live in a rented house forever.
5000 years ago Moses said: "Pack your camel, pick up your shovel,
move your ass and I shall lead you to the promised land."
5000 years later Jimmy Carter said: "Lay down your shovel, sit on
your ass and light up a camel, this is the promised land."
This year Ronald Reagan will take your shovel, sell your camel, kick
your ass and tell you he gave away the promised land.
I'm glad I am an American, I'm glad that I am free, but I wish I was
a dog and Reagan was a tree...
===========================================================================
WORDS OF WISDOM/PREACH-O-RAMA SUMMARY/OTISIANS RANTINGS
===========================================================================
[Hmm below is various conversations and quotes from that Preach-O-Rama all
your folks seemed to have missed out on. This is barely any of it. I
chopped out a lot.]
{If it seems a bit disjointed, it is. Also some of the conversation bits
have been trimmed a bit, I yanked out the superfluous junk in between some
bits. On the IRC [for those who don't know] conversations tend to happen
in parallel so in between Otisian wisdom you might have a convo about say
removing pet stains from a persian rug.]
[I was looking over this edition of Purps and noticed it was lacking
concrete Otisian Wisdom. [Oh there's plenty of it there, just you have to
decode it.] I also figured it might be nice to hear more words of
wisdom from the Pope and a couple other Luminaries. I just left the names
like they were on the IRC except for the innocent bystanders who's names
were deleted out. Anyways thing that is not labeled is what Mal said.]
<PJI> Sex is the END not a reason
<Otodotos> Frued is the god of Sexual Repression, arch-enemy of Mari-Lynne.
<Otodotos> Frued's chief saint is Saint Stanley By-the-Brook.
<Stuff> (Otis approves of everything.)
<Otodotos> Thou art dog!
<Otodotos> Does a dog have Otis-nature?
<Stuff> Otis nature. No. Dog nature. Yes.
<PJI> Genuine 100% OTIS certified Pope's Shit!
<PJI> 19.95 and an SASE for a Limited time
<Stuff> Pope's shit? Can I get that gift wrapped?
<Otodotos> Mysterious Scatological Ejaculations!
<PJI> now it's less than just us.
<PJI> we are not ourselves?
<PJI> we are not all here
> We are all channeling or something. that's why we are doing this.
> we are giving purps a very bizarre rep on here ya know.
<PJI> Mal: Yeah. But it's not my magazine.. anymore hehehe :}
<PJI> Why do you think I got rid of it...
>Oh hell it's all in the name of good clean fun.
->pji> we sound like a bunch of missionaries on speed.
<PJI> We awfully silly in here by ourselves
> Oh way too silly.
(Innocent) I don't know what are you talking about!
*PJI* so true... and I'm not on speed...
<PJI> OTIS is an incomphrensible mysteroy
<Stuff> we never kill babies.
<PJI> mystery
<PJI> no never. No babies. Or yaks
<Otodotos> Spelling: an incomprehensable mystery
<Stuff> Yeti?
<Stuff> Perhaps speeling is mystical.
<Otodotos> No Yak tossing here. No siree!
<PJI> Spellign? nah pefrectyl esay to understadn
(Innocent Bystander) Do you eat ALIVE babies?
<Stuff> no. well, if you pay lots of money.
<Otodotos> No. Dead ones only.
(Innocent Bystander) You buy them or what?
> Well actually re rely on donations and the kindness of strangers.
(Innocent Bystander) I see...
> Oh and divine intervention and superior technology.
> In this modern age of squabbling religions you need more than just
(Innocent Bystander) You guys are just against logic, isn't it?
> miracles to get ahead. YOu need electronic counter measures.
> Logic? what does that have to do with anything?
> The world would be mighty boring if it were logical.
(Innocent Bystander) So you're some kind of weird people
> Religious People tend to be weird. Every watch sunday morning t.v.?
> since there are only a few of us we have to be a bit more concentrated
(Innocent Bystander) Are you religious people?
(A different Innocent) hmmm? Hi. Who's Otis?
<PJI> Hello Innocent
<Otodotos> Otis!
<Stuff> Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life.
> Otis is the God of everything. She's a swell god to worship.
<Otodotos> The god with NO dog-nature!
<Stuff> Dog nature is key, though.
<Otodotos> From Atlantis.
<Stuff> or, williamstown ma.
<PJI> Which is almost the same
<PJI> OTIS LIVES!
<Stuff> so, Innocent, how's texas?
<Otodotos> Set yourself on fire!
<PJI> Set your DOG on fire!
> Or if you don't like Otis you can try Heether. She's looking for new
> converts.
<Stuff> set your voyeur on fire.
<Otodotos> Watch your dog!
<PJI> Everything forbidden is OPTIONAL! Do what we would not have thou do
shall be the exception to the law-- otis 5:23
> Or I suppose we could whisper the occult wisdom of the Mistress of Mayhem.
<Otodotos> Give them what they want to hear! --- otis 4:4
<PJI> Heether is what? O disloyal goddess, o rebellious goddess...
<Stuff> If I had any fish I would put it back in the water. Otis 2:3
<PJI> Mal: Hey no ERIS here...
<Otodotos> and the straight shall be made curvy!
> Oh poor Heether always gets eclipsed by the light of Otis.
> she's a good Goddess to ya know. I mean look what she's done for me.
(Innocent) Don't settle down for my sake, kids, ranting is part of my life
+style.
(Gruntpig:+purps) I will now rearrange my internal organs from anatomical to
alphabetical order...
<PJI> OTIS shines brighter
<Otodotos> Otis is only 60 wats.
<PJI> Hallogens have so many uses
<Otodotos> Yes!
<Stuff> GP: excel;lent!!!!!
> Well if they won't fall for anyone else why not her? Hmm?
<PJI> GP: AMAZING!
<Stuff> and really cool.
<PJI> Mal: If they fall for her they'll fall for anyone, true...
(Innocent) Don't be afraid, it's JUST AN OVEN.
<Stuff> oven?
<PJI> but you can still send him/her money...
<Stuff> Money is the important thing.
<Otodotos> Jock-itch has no dog-nature.
<PJI> <<Some other Innocent>>: A victim of OTIS rage no doubt
<Stuff> Jock-itch baked is really dull.
<PJI> Probably after me. I still owe her money...
(Innocent) netlag I got bored Ignore the oven reference
<Otodotos> Otis is mighty touchy these days.
> Owe who money? E?
<Stuff> Ovens for the masses.
<Stuff> Ovens for the rich and poor.
> The oven is my friend.
<Otodotos> Frying innocent bystanders for kicks...
<PJI> Hey, I wasn't the one who put the horse's head in her.his most holy loo!
(Innocent) there is no friend in the oven.
<Stuff> Ovens for the catholics, protestants, jews, and those who would
classify themselves as Other.
<Otodotos> Not me!
<Stuff> Ovens for OTIS!
<PJI> *puts head in oven*
<Otodotos> Ta-da!
> Always room for one more.
<Stuff> turns it too broil.
<PJI> YES! Send all your ovens to: IGHF POB 235 Williamstomn, MA 01267-0235 usa
<PJI> Turns it off.
*** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Kitchen
*** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Pulpit.
<Otodotos> topic wars
> It's the Nova Oven or the pulpit for you preacher man.
*** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Pulpit and into the Oven!
(Innocent) Otis for Ovens. Lovin' Ovens.
(Innocent) InterGalacticHangingFruit?"
<Stuff> So, where to convection ovens come in?
<Otodotos> Send Otis the bill!
*** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the OVEN and into the OVEN.
<PJI> IGHF
<Stuff> good in and out motions.
<Otodotos> Pant!
<Stuff> Hat.
> Yeah but you'll never get converts at this rate.
(Gruntpig:+purps) nothing says loving like a loved one in the oven
<Stuff> Intergalactic house of fruitcakes. Or whatever.
> Convection.. don't you mean conversion ovens?
<PJI> Innocent: InterGalactic House fo Fruitcakes. Close though
<Otodotos> Join your own army!
<Stuff> Nothing says loved on like giving them an oven. Through the mail.
<Otodotos> Have your cake and eat it, too!
*** PJI changed the topic to Serious Discussion About Religion.
> Yes it's the FTD florist gas oven bouquet for that someone extra special.
<Stuff> Bake your CAke and eat it too. Non-alienated labor.
> Bake your cake and eat it too.
<Otodotos> If you meet Otis on the road, clap Bob!
<PJI> Remember! all of the chemicals in the human body are only worth $2.08!
<Stuff> except on the black market. where they can be made into glue for much
+ more.
<PJI> Drink Mercury and increase your value...
<Otodotos> Raise you own value! NOW!
<Otodotos> Drink Otis!
<PJI> Let Us raise your value!
<PJI> follow the 44 step program to Genkiness!
<Stuff> Going once going twice sold to the pope in the red fez for two eternit
+ies and one small punishment.
<Otodotos> Hi. We're the Otisians. We'd like to save you.
<Stuff> PURPS in my brain! Otis in my life.
<Otodotos> No Masons here, I hop?
<Otodotos> hope?
<Stuff> Mason Mason Mason.
<Stuff> Me.
<A different Innocent> not recently.
<Innocent> you want to tell me what the light of Otis is?
> No no masons. I swear by the great architect of the Universe there are no mas
+ons here.
<Stuff> Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life.
> No tracing boards either.
<Stuff> Otis saves.
<Stuff> Otis lives.
<Stuff> Otis rants.
<Stuff> Otis raves.
<PJI> Otis saves!
<Otodotos> Hail Otis!
<PJI> Otis dances!
<PJI> HAIL OTIS!
<Stuff> Naked in the moonlight.
<PJI> with the pagans
<Otodotos> No, no. Not naked. That's gross.
<Stuff> So, tell us about your personal saviour, Innocent.
<Stuff> Naked is NOT gross.
<Stuff> Naked is nice.
<PJI> No illuminati here either
<Stuff> I'm naked now.
<Otodotos> With Otis it is!
<Innocent> No-one's told me what the light of Otis is yet.
> If if you don't have one have we got one for you.
<PJI> *dies mysteriously*
<Stuff> With Otis everything is nice.
<Otodotos> 60 wats
<PJI> The light of OTIS is embodied in the OTISian dogma!
<Stuff> The light is that special something that helps people realize the natur
+e of their life.
<PJI> the OTISian Dogma:
<Stuff> to serve OTIS.
<Otodotos> Praise dogma!
<Stuff> dogma.
<PJI> 1. We have no dogma
<Stuff> yes.
<PJI> 2. Ignore previous dogma
<Stuff> 1 a We have lots of dogma/
<Stuff> 2 a if you do not pay attention, we kill you.
> Hmm don't forget the 4th commandment.
<Otodotos> 4. There is no dog in dogma.
<PJI> 3. Send ALL of your money to IGHF: POB 235 Williamstown, MA 01267-0235 US
+A
<Stuff> 4th: send no money.
> Wait how can the pope have ties if he don't get money?
<PJI> 4. Everything forbidden is Optional. Do what we would not have thou do s
+hall be the exception to the law
<Innocent> Stuff: My personal saviour will be that guy that offers to sell
me an Onkyo A8000 amplifier and AAron Quartet speakers for less than $1000!!
<Otodotos> 4.5 Give all your money to the person on your left.
<PJI> %: Ignore O. he is um silly
<Stuff> Innocent: nice choice. I like a little slack in my diet.
> Hmm sounds like a Job for B-B or B. Otis.
<Otodotos> SLACK?!?!
<Stuff> B Otis 2!!
<PJI> How can the pope have UNDERWARE if he don't have money?
<Otodotos> HERETIC!!!!!!!!!!
<Stuff> SInister Heretic, thank you.
<Stuff> Underwrite the underwear.
<Otodotos> I have a pair of the Pope's underwear.
> underware.. hmm so you do wear something under your popal robes.
<sextrash> Can I launch the head of Arnold Palmer here?
<Stuff> they don't look good on you.
<Stuff> ST: YES!!!!!!!
> Hmm this is the Death to Bob channel actually.
*** Otodotos changed the topic to Death to Bob
<Otodotos> Brow kills.
<sextrash> Death to Discordia!
<PJI> Underware: looks good on me
<sextrash> Death to the Crunchies!
<Otodotos> Death to the Blue Meanies!
<Stuff> Death to Otis.
<Stuff> looks light wonder wear.
<PJI> DEATH TO BOB!
> Sex: hay now let's not give it all away!!!!
<Innocent> this is all over my head
<Stuff> Hey, as Junior security birdman I appreciate that!
<Otodotos> We already tried that. He just popped back up.
> There are secrets even these illuminates do not know.
<PJI> you are not a birdman. you are yeti
<Otodotos> Sheep!
<sextrash> Mal: St Bud save me! yer right of course...
> Shh!! you'll give the game away. I'd have to have to use the OMC.
<Otodotos> And behold! The credible shall be hosed! And the hosed shall be sa
+ved! --- Otis 44:44
<PJI> Oh. Park it in your submarine pen. heheh
<PJI> Are the credible saved?
<Otodotos> Only if they get hosed by Otis.
<PJI> Ah...
> what about the incredible? or the Invincible for that matter.
<PJI> I think I've been hosed by OTIS...
<sextrash> I'm writing a speculative fiction piece on what America would be
like if Abraham Lincoln had been a platypus
<Otodotos> Cool.
<PJI> ST: wasn't he a platypus?
> Hmm how does a platypus wear a stove pipe hat?
<PJI> ST: I think Max Ernst already did that one
<Otodotos> I once wrote a pornographic novel about if Max Ernst had been a psyc
+ho-killer and Adolf Hitler had been a cop.
<sextrash> 4 score and 7 quack! quack! quack! *burrows into the ground*
(Yet another Innocent) otodotos, that is an unusual nick!
> Hitler couldn't be a cop. He was too short.
<sextrash> the only egg laying mammal ever to become commander in chief
<PJI> ST: lincoln was farr too dignified to go borrowing into the ground
<Otodotos> Innocent: why thank you! that's a ravishing number you have on yoursel
+f tonight!
> Mighty impressive feat for a marsupial I must say.
<PJI> ST: hmmm... but there was an aardvark who made pope...
(Innocent) a ravishing number?
> Hmm he could make a cameo appearance in 'the good they bad and the ugly'
> Hmm that the Ulyses S. Grant scatch and sniff three dee movie?
<Otodotos> What if McDonald's were NOT run by aliens?
<PJI> Grant was too dignified to be human. What if Thomas Edison had been a wo
+man?
<Otodotos> What kind of creature IS the Grimace, anyhow?
<PJI> Light bulbs might be shaped differently
(Innocent) I like the set of Q numbers.
(Innocent) Q numbers are quiet.
<Stuff> Grimace is the monster.
<Otodotos> What are those Fry Guys?
<PJI> The grim: and what happened to those two extra arms? are they really ne
+xt to Brow's testicles in the oTIS, MA museum?
===========================================================================
MORE STORIES!!!
===========================================================================
Date: Tue, 21 May 91 22:04:02 CDT
From: Reverend John <UC521832@UMCVMB.missouri.EDU>
Subject: part the third
My Voyage Into The Netherworld
or,
How I Learned To Stop Worrying And SPODE
by Rev. John Tynes
uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet
uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu
part the third
(and final)
Mal regarded me levelly from behind a mass of unkempt hair. He fixed me with
a serious gaze, portents of doom swam behind his eyes.
I couldn't take him seriously.
He was, after all, sitting on the toilet.
"So, uh, Mal.. are you Satan now or something?"
"Don't be dense, Rev. I'm just sort of holding it in trust."
"I'm confused.. I mean, SPODE sent me down here, like it didn't know you were
responsible. And what the hell - pardon the pun - are you doing, anyway?"
Barker stood up and pushed his hair back some. For a moment it came to life,
tying his hand up in knots, twisting about like a garden of dark snakes. I
watched in amazement as Mal jerked about, one arm on his head, trying to free
himself.
"But Mal, you don't have dandruff!"
Suddenly his hair relaxed and he pulled his hand free, shooting me another
look I could frame and scare Karloff with.
"Come on. Gotta show you something."
The two demons grabbed me again, crinkling the fine cotton/poly blend of my
t-shirt. On it, the Subgenius design flared slightly, and I could feel
the sudden heat against my skin. Mal noticed the brief glow and dismissed
it - "Stang isn't getting royalties for this story, Rev. He's pissed.
Ignore it."
We began to walk - well, I was carried, but all the same we moved into a
long tunnel, carpeted all around. To my astonishment there were dozens of
inflated balloons, of all colors, sticking to the carpet. As we walked,
Mal stopped and plucked one down. He rubbed it against the carpet for a bit
and it stuck. He giggled a bit. When he noticed I was staring at him he
glared again.
"I like static electricity, alright?? It's interesting."
We pressed on.
As we walked, I was slowly aware of a growing sound. It was a strange sort of
music, very distant but very clear. It grew louder as we stomped along, Mal
refusing to answer my questions. The two demons weren't talkative, either.
After a few more minutes, we came to the end of the hall. There before us
stood a massive wooden door. Mal leaned against the wall and lifted his foot
like a dog taking a piss.
I made a smart remark. One of the demons hit me. It hurt.
After a moment the heel of Mal's upraised combat boot dropped open and a
key fell out. This he picked up, glaring at me again, and unlocked the door.
As soon as the door began to open, the everpresent music swelled in a
glorious crescendo. Light poured from the crack, and suddenly I understood
a bit more about what was going on.
Mal opened the door all the way, and then looked at me with a little smile.
Within was God. It was him, the big G, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the
Father, the trinity, the whole nine yards. He was right out of Industrial
Light & Magic: soft glowing light, flowing robes, cherubim and seriphum
swirling around and singing in beautiful voices.
The two demons immediately dissipated, the looks on their faces suggesting
a sort of cosmic indigestion.
God surveyed me from furrowed brows. His hair and beard were long and
immaculately grey, and just seeing him filled me with an emotion that
is hard to put into words.
"Jesus jumping christ on a fucking pogo stick, Mal! What the hell are you
doing??"
Mal snickered. "Watch your language, Rev. You are in the presence of God,
you know."
The deity regarded me slowly, but said nothing.
"That's GOD in there! In hell! And you've got him locked up?"
"Yep."
Mal swung the door shut again and locked it, replacing the key in his boot.
"Come on back to the throne room. We gotta talk."
------
Returning to the little cubicle, Mal sat down on the ornate toilet seat
and gestured for me to sit on the floor.
"To put it simply, God was coming back and something had to be done. He's
having a big revival now, Rev. You've seen it. Fundamentalists, deranged
goverment people, it was his time in the spotlight again."
"So what's he doing in hell? And what are YOU doing here?"
"Well, nobody really believes in the devil anymore. So, here's hell, just
a big abandoned building with a bunch of idiot demons running around.
Somebody had to move in and take Satan's place. I thought I was the one for
the job."
"But SPODE doesn't know anything about you being down here."
"Nope. You see, I captured God, and I'm not gonna let him back out again. I
can't tell SPODE, though. We puny humans aren't supposed to be able to do
that kinda thing. SPODE is a deity you know. He may be a swell guy at parties
but when the chips come down he's the one with a key to the executive
bathroom, not us."
"Okay. Satan ain't around, you took his place, you captured God, and SPODE
and the rest aren't supposed to know." I scooted a little closer. "But Mal,
what's the point?"
"Oh. Hmm. Well, I sort of wanted to see if it could be done."
"That's it?"
"Kinda. I was fooling around with static electricity, some stuff Nikola
Tesla was working on just before his death. He thought that it was the stuff
that held the universe together, and that if used properly it could generate
a sort of magnetic force."
"You're losing me here.."
"Well, I came to hell. I figure, like attracts like. So I put a bunch of
tormented souls into helium balloons and rubbed them against a big carpeted
tunnel, kinda like a particle cannon. And boom, suddenly God's here, stuck
at one end of the soul tunnel. So I got him."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Well, now what? I mean, SPODE wants me to tell it what's going on."
"Easy. Tell it that God is dead. Again. At this point, he'll believe
anything."
"You got a point."
"Look, I'll see you back topside. You can make up whatever story you want
to go along with this, but leave me out of it. SPODE gets nervous around
free agents."
-----
A week later I had made a full report. True to my story, the level of God
activity simmered down to a tolerable point and SPODE paid me what I was owed.
Obviously, Mal was keeping a very tight rein on the old gent down below. The
check from SPODE bounced, of course, but I wasn't worried. Karma like this
you can't pass up.
Mal still appears on the net, and periodically spits out a new PURPS. No one
has guessed what that extra extension on his net address really means. But
heck, even hell has an internet node.
Satan? Well, I part ways with Mal here. I think he's still around, in one
form or another. Who knows.. he could be sitting right next to me right
this very minute, wearing a pair of Converse All-Stars or something.
I've known stranger things to happen.
-FIN-
Rev. John
uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet
uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu
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--Subink 1991
